Baby, Can I Hold You?
by slashbutterfly
Summary: Yes, it's another songfic. Even years after Kate's death the team are still affected - two in particular. Tony decides to take matters into his own hands. Eventual Tibbs slash, nothing graphic in all probability.
1. Sorry

(A/N: Yes, I know, yet another songfic – this to Tracy Chapman's "Baby Can I Hold You". I just keep hearing songs and getting plot ideas (or, in many cases, prompts for some pretty plotless fluff/angst/general slashiness.) I've played fast and loose with the details of Kate's death – and, by the way, I have no idea what time of year she died, so that's all a little vague – but it just seemed a convenient plot device. Sorry; that's all a bit sloppy. But that said, I really hope people like it. I do.

As always, none of it belongs to me, blah. And this is slash (well, pre-slash), so if it offends you please go somewhere else.)

1. Sorry

_Sorry_

_Is all that you can't say_

_Years gone by and still_

_Words don't come easily_

_Like sorry, like sorry_

It was that time of year again, the time when a barely detectable fog of gloom descended upon the team. Everything ran as normal, otherwise: work continued, the long-established roles were maintained, and to the untrained eye there was really discernable difference. But to those in the know, all the clues were there. Tony, far more subdued than usual, actually working with his head down, cracking fewer jokes at McGee's expense; McGee himself buried in his computer, messing around with lists of numbers that appeared completely meaningless to everyone else; Abby, lost in her music, and without her customary sunny demeanour; Ducky far less inclined to ramble on for hours; and Gibbs slamming his coffee or two down with the extra force that caused everything on his desk that wasn't actually held down to jump an inch into the air. Ziva was relatively unaffected, or if she was, it was for a different reason to everyone else, and she was very good at hiding it; even so the lowered mood got to her as it did all the others.

This time around it was intensified by the fact that work was very slow. They hadn't had a really interesting or complex case for weeks, no cryptic murders or kidnappings, and Gibbs had resorted to setting them to work on cold cases. This did little to improve anyone's temper, especially as their boss, in his awful mood, had seemed to pick the oldest cases with the least evidence to go on.

One morning, when the grey sky heavy with clouds outside perfectly mirrored the subdued atmosphere inside, Tony sat at his desk, head in hands. It seemed very quiet all of a sudden. Abby hadn't been in for the last couple of days – he assumed Gibbs had told her to take some time off, there being little for her to do. McGee was still sifting through reams of numbers, and the only noise that came from his desk was the occasional beep of the computer as it finished running whatever scans he had set up. Ziva had disappeared somewhere, possibly to talk to Ducky, and Gibbs was taking longer than usual on his third coffee break of the morning.

Tony didn't blame him. He could really have done with a coffee himself, though he doubted caffeine would do anything for the waves of guilt and depression washing over him. Even after all this time it still came back to haunt him once a year.

He supposed it was understandable. Ducky probably would have said it was survivor's guilt or something similar, but it wasn't something he felt like taking to Ducky. But after all it was only reasonable that he and Gibbs should be the most affected. They had been there, after all. How Gibbs coped, he didn't know. All he did know was that he, Anthony DiNozzo, should have done more.

He knew it was irrational. What can you do to stop a sniper? But Kate had been his colleague. They'd been working side by side, together through everything. And after what she did for him when he had the plague, it felt like the ultimate betrayal. He hadn't even tried to save her, not even after that first shot which scared the wits out of them. So many times he had cursed himself for having forgotten that this was Ari they were dealing with. One of them should have realised that Ari would not be put off by a bullet-proof vest and a miraculous first recovery. But no, they'd all just stood around laughing like _idiots_ while he took aim and fired.

A loud thump made him jump. Looking down, he realised that it had been his fist connecting with his desk. What was more, there was a small damp patch on his collar and what felt suspiciously like tears on his face. Checking that McGee wasn't looking, he wiped them off surreptitiously, and looked almost normal when Gibbs strode in bearing not one, not two, but three coffees. _He's going to give himself a heart attack if he carries on at this rate,_ he thought.

The silence suddenly grew even more intense as even the incessant tapping of the keyboard on his right ceased. Feeling his face turning red, he tried hastily to calm himself.

_Shit. I said that out loud, didn't I?_

A shadow fell over him and he looked up slowly to see the angel of doom himself, Jethro Gibbs, standing in front of his desk with an unreadable expression on his face. Tensing his shoulders, he hung his head again and prepared for the inevitable headslap, but it never came. Instead a white polystyrene cup appeared in front of him. Reaching out for it instinctively, he drew his hand back at the last minute as he remembered his manners and raised his head to thank his boss. When he saw the outstretched arm coming towards him he had no time to duck, but he was pleasantly surprised. Instead of the ringing blow he expected he felt a hand brushing through his hair and cupping his neck. It lingered there just a little too long, and he was reminded of another occasion when this had happened; he was getting the same tingles now. Then, it had been because of a sense of pride; he had felt honoured by the sign of affection, like it was a form of unspoken praise. Now, however, there was something more behind it, though what it was he could not tell. Something at the very back of his mind stirred, half-rearing its head in the gloom, but he pushed it back down. Not that. Not now.

A small cough from his right brought him back to his senses, and he realised that Gibbs' hand was still on his neck; it quickly withdrew as both men turned simultaneously to stare at McGee, who blushed.

"Something up, McGee?" Gibbs' voice sounded weary, but it lacked none of its usual authority. The younger agent shook his head hastily.

"Nothing, Boss. I'm – I'll just get back to work now." He bent his head over his keyboard once again, and Tony strongly suspected that he was typing randomly in an attempt to appear busy.

As Gibbs returned to his desk, almost flopping into his chair, Tony watched him. Sometimes it seemed like they had grown apart after Kate's death. The three of them, eventually four with McGee's arrival, had made a good team, helped inordinately by the fact that Tony and Gibbs had worked together previously, and so did not rub each other up the wrong way quite as much as they otherwise would have done. And then she had been killed, and nothing had been the same. Gibbs had become obsessed with Ari, and Tony… well, he had wanted to apologise so badly, to at least show that he recognised he'd messed up, but the time was never right; and then Ziva turned up and the moment passed forever.

And now… now Gibbs looked tired and washed out and there was nothing Tony wanted to do more than hug him, hold him close, tell him it would all be okay, that it wasn't his fault…

_Stop it_, Tony told himself with a mental headslap. _Stop imagining things that will never happen in a million years. And now, of all times? Falling for your hetero-as-they-come boss would be bad enough whenever, but now? Do you have no shame? One moment you're guilt-tripping over Kate, and the next you're eyeing up Gibbs?_

Maybe I am as sex-mad as the rest of them think, he mused, grinning a little in spite of himself. Suddenly a thought struck him, and he occupied himself for a few minutes before picking up his coffee, taking a long swig and announcing his intention to leave.

"Boss, I think I'll head off now. Um… things to do, you know, and it's not as if I'm doing any good here."

At any other time of year he would have got a stinging headslap for that statement, let alone leaving before Gibbs gave the order, but now everything was just topsy-turvy enough for him to get away with it. Gibbs just grinned, suddenly, with that _(adorable)_ smile of his, and nodded. "Hot date tonight, Tony?"

This prompted a snort from McGee, but Tony looked thoughtful, quietly enjoying the lightened mood while it lasted. Then he, too, smiled.

"Maybe. See ya, Boss," and he sauntered off into the lift, leaving Gibbs looking strangely dejected.

(A/N: Not one of my best, but I needed to write something. I know it's a little uneven, but please go easy on me. It's eleven pm, I've been revising Chemistry for over an hour and I have two exams tomorrow. This will get better, I promise. And I'm working on a couple of the other fics that I need to update, and also some new ones. Yes, there will be more chapters to follow – five in total, probably. Now, reviews, anyone? Offer me some comfort? *begs shamelessly and totally uncharacteristically*

Oh, and I'd like some opinions – do people on the whole prefer McNozzo or Tibbs? Just curious, but feedback's always appreciated.)


	2. Forgive Me

(A/N: Again, it's a little rough, so sorry for that. This chapter is from Gibbs' POV, just to state the obvious. Dedicating it to the Beatles (yes, I know, two of them are dead) for keeping me sane through exams, and for making amazing, beautiful music.)

2. Forgive Me

_Forgive me_

_Is all that you can't say_

_Years gone by and still_

_Words don't come easily_

_Like forgive me, forgive me_

Gibbs watched his senior agent leave, his heart heavy for some reason that he could not quite identify. Well, it wouldn't have taken him long if he'd stopped to think about it, but thinking was something that he didn't feel like doing right at that moment. So he sighed, and turned to look instead at the only other team member still present; McGee was the very picture of hard work, huddled over the keyboard, tired eyes wide and staring.

He jerked his head towards the door. "Go."

McGee looked around, as though there was someone else he could be talking to. Then, taking the message, he grabbed his coat and bag and made ready to leave with a grateful smile. Gibbs sat perfectly still until he heard the ping of the lift doors; suddenly he slumped, exhausted, as the tension suddenly dissipated. It had been a long day – a long week – and he was seriously considering giving the team a few days off to get over their remembrances and regrets. He wasn't sure he could take much more of this, and to be honest a break would do him good as well.

He knew what they were going through. Usually he would have tried to offer some words of comfort, but here they would just sound trite and thoughtless. What could he say, anyway? "Sorry I fucked up?" He could hear the indignant protests that he had done nothing wrong, and that was the last thing he wanted.

Apologising was not something Gibbs was good at. In this case, he'd already apologised to the person who mattered a thousand times over – on the rooftop, on the autopsy table, at her graveside – but whether she could hear him or not he didn't know.

Saying sorry – asking for forgiveness, in a sense – was unthinkable. Who to ask? God… now there was a laughable idea. He'd lost any faith he'd ever had after the death of the only woman he ever loved and his beautiful daughter; Kate's death had only cemented that lack of belief. No, he wanted forgiveness from Kate herself, to hear that she did not blame him for not protecting her as he should have done, to hear that she did not think he had let her down.

But that wasn't all. Sure, he felt phenomenally guilty for the death of one of his agents, but he would never forget that his first thought on seeing Kate fall was nothing to do with her; it was relief that it was not Tony lying there on the concrete with a bullet hole in his forehead. After almost losing him to the plague he'd realised how much he meant to him. And after Kate's death, seeing him cut up and not being able to offer any solace… well, that was almost worse than letting one of his agents get killed.

And recently, if he was honest, there had been more than platonic feelings in the mess that was his mind. Having…_ feelings_ for men – and not just any man, his second-in-command, his subordinate – was not something that Leroy Jethro Gibbs did, on principle; call it an unspoken rule. On top of that, there was Rule 12 to consider, though he wasn't sure how much that helped. McGee and Abby, for a start, and he was sure there'd been something between Tony and Kate, however unacknowledged. That, of course, would have made it even harder for the boy, never mind that he was there when she died. And what did it mean for him? He was Gibbs, and he knew they all thought he was uber-straight, what with his track record of wives. Tony wasn't much better with his string of ex-girlfriends. Sometimes, he'd thought that Tony was maybe flirting with him, just a little bit, but every time he dismissed it as wishful thinking. Who'd want him?

He sighed, and stretched. He had cramp in his legs from sitting in the same position for too long. It was time to go home and drink bourbon in his basement from a jamjar. Somehow the thought was not as appealing as usual, but what alternative was there?

Standing up, he shrugged on his long coat and edged out from behind his desk, running a hand through his hair. On impulse, he stopped as he passed Tony's work station, staring at the imprint in the chair and the debris scattered over the surface.

Amidst the rubbish something caught his eye. Gingerly he picked up a small slip of paper labelled 'Gibbs' in large letters, and unfolded it. The message was brief but comprehensive.

_Don't want to be alone tonight, Boss, and neither do you, or my name's not DiNozzo. You'll find me. Look for the car._

_See you downtown?_

_Tony_

And… was that a _kiss_ at the bottom, half-hidden? Stowing the paper away inside a pocket, he shook his head. He must be tired if his eyesight was going that badly.

Before long he was out at his car, sitting behind the wheel and staring out into the gathering dusk. He supposed he might as well get it over with; no use in procrastinating, pretending to himself that he wouldn't go, that he had a choice at all. Starting the engine, he pulled out onto the road, preparing himself for whatever the evening ahead would hold.

(A/N: Please tell me someone liked it? It'll probably get more slashy and angsty from the next chapter onwards, with a fluffy conclusion, so consider yourselves prewarned.

Nice to get so many reviews for once - I guess asking a question is the way to go! So, anyone any de-stressing tips? (And poor McNozzo!))


	3. The Right Words, At the Right Time

(A/N: Another chapter for you all… it would be best to take note now that I don't really have any idea what Tony likes to drink or would drink in a situation like this, so I've made it up. Don't shoot me.

Oh, and from here on in it all starts getting even more OOC. Try not to hate me for it?)

3. The Right Words, At The Right Time

_But you can say baby_

_Baby can I hold you tonight?_

_Maybe if I told you the right words_

_At the right time_

_You'd be mine_

Gibbs was not the only one sitting in his car in the dark. Tony had been doing the same thing for the last twenty minutes, trying to work up the courage to walk into one of the bars he knew Gibbs would know. His own usual haunts would be no good; his boss wouldn't have found him in a million years. No, better somewhere they both knew – a sort of neutral environment for what he hoped would be an interesting evening. On the plus side, he knew they'd be able to have a private conversation without the danger of anyone listening on. But on the other hand, if things did turn a little more… _active_ (his heart skipped a beat at the thought), they'd have to get out of there pretty quick. The bars in this area of town were not known for their tolerance of anything like _that_.

Steeling himself, he got out of the car, locking it behind him. There was really no reason to be nervous, he tried to tell himself; it was not as if Gibbs could have got there before him. He'd have plenty of time to calm his nerves with a drink or two. His footsteps quickened at the thought. He didn't really care what it was: right now he just needed some form of alcohol to take the edge off his fear.

Ducking his head slightly, he entered the gloom, heading straight for the illuminated bar to give his eyes time to adjust to the light. Picking up a glass of bourbon for Gibbs, and, after a moment's thought, another for himself, he headed for a table in a completely unoccupied corner of the room, away from the few other lone drinkers.

As he sat down it suddenly struck him that he had not entertained the possibly that Gibbs would not turn up for even a second. It was characteristic of him, he had to admit, to form a half thought through plan and not even consider that things might not run quite that way. Still, though, he knew Gibbs would come sooner or later. The man couldn't refuse a challenge, or an opportunity like this, if he'd read the signals right.

Trying to calm his nerves, he took a tentative sip of the stuff in front of him, surprised that it was not as strong as he'd somehow assumed it would be. It didn't take him long to finish it off. Then he sat staring into the darkness morosely, clutching the glass in so tightly his hand he was surprised it didn't break.

The minutes ticked by with no sign of Gibbs. Doubt seeped into his mind, and his resolve not to order another drink began to crumble. Eventually he got a refill of the same stuff, and out of nerves downed it far too quickly, choking and dropping the empty glass.

Suddenly he felt a sharp blow between his shoulders, as though someone had struck him with the heel of their hand. The spluttering began to subside and he eased his grip on the edge of the table. But the whisper of "Breathe, DiNozzo" in his ear almost made him begin to cough again. He supposed it was lucky that his boss had chosen that moment to turn up; the bartender appeared entirely unconcerned by the incident, and he highly doubted any of the other patrons were qualified in first aid. It was unfortunate that their meeting had to begin with him making a complete arse of himself. Still, he hoped Gibbs wouldn't think anything of it. He managed it on an almost daily basis, after all.

Realising that the other man had now seated himself, he pushed the glass across the table towards him. "Thanks, Boss. What would I do without you?" He attempted a half-smile, but though the statement was meant as a joke it sent an irrational stab of fear through him at the idea of life without Gibbs. It had been bad enough once before. He wasn't going to lose the man again, not when he was coming to realise just how much he needed him.

"What's this about, DiNozzo?" That voice jerked him out of his reverie, and he almost blurted out exactly what he was thinking. Regaining control, he shrugged, trying to appear neither too eager nor too apathetic.

"Just thought you might appreciate a drinking partner for once."

Bad move. He caught the roll of the eyes, and the slight shift that meant he was seriously considering leaving. Without quite knowing what he was doing, his hand darted out to catch Gibbs'. This wasn't ending yet. Immediately he blushed, becoming conscious of what he was actually doing, and began to pull his hand back.

Before it was halfway across the table he felt a soft pressure on top of it, stopping it from moving any further. Looking up, Gibbs would not meet his eyes, and his voice was gruff.

"Leave it there."

Tony's breath caught in his throat. Was he imagining things? His boss – his very _straight_ boss – could not possibly be asking him to… well, to practically hold his hand! _Don't be stupid, DiNozzo. It's just your dumb overactive brain. _He tried to move his hand once more, but Gibbs would not let him.

"Do I have to tell you everything twice, DiNozzo? I said leave it there."

His voice was commanding but not harsh, and he spoke quietly to avoid catching anyone's attention. Very slowly, he drew his hand back, and linked his fingers with Tony's on the table. Then he picked up his drink and began to take slow sips, acting as if nothing had happened, as if they were not sitting holding hands in a darkened bar.

It was almost too surreal for Tony. Not in a bad way, mind. His heart was going faster now, and he had to fight to keep his breathing controlled. Who would have thought that Gibbs liked to _hold hands? _Out of the many things he associated with the man, such girlish gestures were not among them. He felt himself blushing again, and tried to concentrate on something solid, something real. That hand, warm and somehow comforting, a reminder that this was really happening. Those fingers, linked with his own, the skin slightly roughened but not painfully so.

And then he lost it. The contact was broken, and he looked up, startled, with words that died on his lips as he saw Gibbs already on his feet, staring down at him with a kind of impatience.

"You coming or what, DiNozzo? We need to talk. Not here."

He reached out for Tony's hand again, briefly, to pull him to his feet.

"Outside. Now."

Stumbling slightly, Tony did as he was bid. He was too giddy to do anything else, though he wasn't quite sure why. And sure enough, as soon as they got outside, he doubled up, laughing hysterically. His head felt filled with air, and he was sure he was light enough to simply float away. From far off he heard a voice talking to him.

"What the hell, DiNozzo?"

He struggled to speak.

"Just – this - first Kate – now you – holding _hands_, Gibbs – too much to drink-"

He knew he was making no sense, but he was laughing too hard to be coherent. And now there were strong hands on his shoulders, pulling him upright, and soft lips on his own, kissing him – _kissing him?_ Before he quite knew what he was doing, he was kissing him back, carefully putting one arm round Gibbs' shoulders to steady himself. All the while his inner voice was going haywire. _What the hell do you think you're doing, Tony? This could wreck your career! He's probably just had too much to drink! You're both going to regret this! You'll never work again! This is – _

Tony smiled into the kiss. _Shhh,_ he told himself, and stopped listening to whatever it was his conscience had to say. He just wanted to enjoy this moment, standing outside under the velvet sky kissing Gibbs.

Suddenly it stopped, and there was a warm voice in his ear.

"Not here, Tony. Let's go home."

He smiled, following his boss across the road to his car. He knew he should be pointing out that his car was here, too, and he didn't want to leave it there overnight. But just for now, he didn't care about his car. He certainly wasn't going to pass up the opportunity to take a lift with Gibbs, though it wasn't something he'd ever taken pleasure in before. He had a feeling, though, that this ride would be different.

Still smiling, he walked around the car to the passenger side and opened the door. It was an innocent action, one he'd done many times before, but somehow this time it held a kind of promise of things yet to come.

(A/N: Comments, anyone? Thanks for the stress tips! I don't _think_ there's going to be anything M-rated in this story, much as the thought is appealing; probably some angsty fluff will find its way into the next chapter, possibly with a rather dodgy, not to mention recycled, plot device. Anyone who's read some of my other songfics might recognise it. Forgive me. Hopefully, though, I'll be able to make it work without resorting to that.)


	4. I Love You

(A/N: Now, I know it's highly unlikely that Gibbs' car has an analogue radio, but for the purposes of this story it does. They're much cooler, anyways. Also note that I have no idea what American radio is like. Deal with it. So… enjoy?

NB: This chapter and the next are quite similar to other stories. I can't help it. And I've experimented a little with changes of viewpoint, just for the hell of it.)

4. I Love You

_I love you_

_Is all that you can't say_

_Years gone by and still_

_Words don't come easily_

_Like I love you, I love you_

Seated in the car, Tony suddenly felt very uneasy. What on earth would happen next? What if it had all been a stupid mistake, a… a hoax? A chill crept over him as paranoia took hold. His sane mind knew that Gibbs just wasn't capable of doing something like that, yet he couldn't shake off the feeling that something was wrong.

_Shake._ That was it. There was a hand on his shoulder, shaking him gently.

"Look at me."

He did, and seeing that small smile made everything okay again for a little while. The ice that had formed around his heart for a brief moment melted, and he grinned as Gibbs squeezed his shoulder before letting go to start the car.

It didn't take Tony long to realise that he was not being dropped off at his own apartment. He was not sure quite how he felt about that. Something in him had expected it, but now it was becoming a reality… To cover his embarrassment, he leant forward and began to fiddle with the radio. Snatches of conversation and music caught his ears.

"In other news… _and your bird is green… _For the chance to win… _you won't forget her…_ So what's your opinion, Mr… _I love you, I love you…_"

Gibbs reached down and turned the radio off. He could see that Tony was nervous – any fool could have done – but the incessant fiddling was not doing anything for either of them. Besides, he didn't want to listen to some chick warbling on about love. What did she know about it, anyway?

He glanced across at his senior field agent, who was now sitting twisting his hands in his lap and staring at the floor. Wishing he could do something to help, he pressed his foot down harder. He didn't want to do this here. Better that they get back to inside as quickly as possible.

"Boss?"

It seemed that Tony had other ideas.

"What is it, DiNozzo?"

The surname slipped out before he could stop himself. He cursed inwardly. That wasn't going to help matters any. For so long he'd thought of him as Tony, had wanted to call him that, and now he could and he went and messed it all up.

None of that showed on his face, and Tony had no idea that it was anything less than deliberate. Now he was on guard, wondering what he had done to make Gibbs revert to work terms. Hastily he rephrased his question. If Gibbs was going to play it that way then so be it.

"What happens next?"

It came out more blunt than he'd intended, and he braced himself for the sharp reply. Sure enough, he heard the sigh, but what followed was certainly not as sarcastic as he'd been expecting.

"What happens next? We get back to my place. We talk. And then… we take it from there. Relax, Tony. It's going to be okay."

Now he was more than confused. Tony one minute, DiNozzo the next… Still, Gibbs hadn't sounded too pissed off. Maybe, just maybe, it was all going to be okay.

The rest of the journey passed in a companionable silence, both men occupied with their thoughts. Soon they pulled up at the familiar house, and got out, standing still for a moment. Gibbs looked at Tony, and Tony looked at the floor, but both were thinking the same thing, though neither knew it.

_I think… I think I love him, just maybe._

Then Gibbs coughed and led the way to the front door. Opening it, he gestured Tony inside and leant against it, regarding him.

Tony felt very uncomfortable under the scrutiny of those blue eyes. He'd been working up his courage all the way here to ask for something he badly needed, and had been needing for a long time; now he was not sure he could go through with it. Finally he started to speak, coughed, and began again, trying his best to keep eye contact.

"I was wondering… Could I… could I have a hug?"

No further request was needed. Strong arms held him, one around his waist, the other cradling the back of his head and stroking his hair oh-so-gently. He leant into it, savouring the contact for the intimacy it held. Then, without knowing quite why, he began to cry.

(A/N: I know it's weird and cheesy and generally unsatisfactory. But hey, next chapter it all gets resolved. And won't that be nice? Now, does anyone feel like offering an exhausted writer some comfort? The button's just there…)


End file.
